


Somewhere Else in the Stratosphere

by Byacolate



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Awkward Kissing, Car Sex, Other, Prostate Massage, two beanpoles and their shiny deathtrap sexcapades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 14:49:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6380605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/pseuds/Byacolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I keep forgetting we’re sort of… um. Desecrating an Outrunner.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere Else in the Stratosphere

**Author's Note:**

> I have a couple Borderlands requests sitting waiting for me to finish. I've written this instead.

There’s a crack in Zer0’s helmet that Rhys follows with a finger. 

 

“I can fix that,” he says, breath hitching when another digit presses up inside him. Leather, always leather. Rhys’ body jumps when they crook and grabs at the armored plates at Zer0’s shoulders that make them look broader than they are. 

 

Zer0’s thin, thinner even than Rhys, but there’s unbelievable strength in that form - benefits reaped endlessly by Rhys. 

 

“I need it replaced,” Zer0 says, curling their fingers again just when Rhys thinks he’s gotten control over his trembling thighs. “It’s not a priority. Are you comfortable?”

 

“Yeah,” Rhys breathes, “yes,” and settles himself with his legs a little wider in Zer0’s lap. “Very. You?”

 

A red smile pops up from Zer0’s busted helmet before their fingers stretch and spread. Rhys’ body rises a little, noise after little noise being pushed from Rhys’ mouth with every grind of Zer0’s palm against his balls. 

 

Zer0 has long, long fingers, with leather so supple and warm it might as well be skin. Rhys taps his forehead against the helmet. 

 

“Oh my god,” he groans, eyes fluttering closed when Zer0 presses a third finger up and up. “Zer0 -”

 

On a downward grind, his knee slips too far to the right. He yelps and grips a little harder to Zer0’s shoulders, tugging his leg out from between the driver’s seat and the door. Zer0 keeps a steady grip on his opposite thigh, and when they start to pull their fingers out, Rhys tightens around them. “No, no! It’s all good - I keep forgetting we’re sort of… um. Desecrating an Outrunner.”

 

A gentle squeeze to his left thigh settles him, the tiny burst of adrenaline from slipping setting his heart to racing. 

 

“I’m - neither of us are really compact enough for this.”

 

Zer0 doesn’t answer so much as they twist their fingers in such a way that nearly makes Rhys fall right back over. “Uncalled for,” Rhys pants, knocking his forehead against the helmet.

 

Pandora isn’t the safest place for public liaisons, armored vehicle or not. But Zer0's parked them at the top of a precarious-looking cliff with a view of moonlit Pandora for miles and miles. They’re making time on a peak in the middle of the night, where no one’s liable to find them. It’s romantic, in a from-this-vantage-point-we’re-less-likely-to-be-ambushed-by-bandit-kings sort of way. _Vintage._

 

They‘ve been at this for the better part of an eternity or twenty minutes, and Rhys is starting to think it might be possible to be fingered to death. Front seat fucks aren‘t meant to be savored affairs, but Zer0‘s making a day of it.

 

A thumb draws slowly up his thigh, then down. There‘s nothing to be achieved but for the touch itself - affection. A caress, Rhys thinks. He‘s suddenly very desperate for a kiss he knows won‘t come.

 

Taken by impulse, Rhys kisses the tinted, broken window of Zer0‘s helmet. Immediately thereafter, he buries another in the crook of Zer0‘s shoulder to hide his own dumb face from sight. Heat radiates beneath the material from a body he‘s never seen, maybe never will. It’s fine, really. Most of the time. But Rhys wonders, sometimes. Other times, rare and instantly quashed, he _wants_. But it isn‘t his place to ask.

 

And anyway, Zer0 could refuse. So. That’s a risk for stronger men than Rhys.

 

The thump of Zer0‘s helmet resonates shortly through his skull. “Would you like to try that again?”

 

“Nope,” Rhys tells his shoulder, like the grown man he is. Zer0 taps their helmet to the side of Rhys’ head again, but they don‘t push it. 

 

Rhys doesn’t know exactly what lube is in the nondescript bottle Zer0 carries, but they don’t mind getting it all over their gloves, and that’s enough for Rhys. Zer0 slips their fingers from Rhys to coat them with more lubricant, tracing Rhys’ stretched entrance until he’s shivering and slick before pushing back in again. 

 

He does want to try it again - kissing. He doesn’t even mind that it isn’t Zer0’s flesh. It’s a part of them, the only face Rhys has known, and he loves it just the same. 

 

Zer0’s steadying hand moves from his thigh to his dick, and Rhys is ready for the little death to claim him. He’s been ready, but now it’s surely imminent.

 

And then Zer0 rubs the head of his cock with their palm and he does - he comes and comes, most of it caught in Zer0’s hand. Some of it ends up on Rhys’ shirt and Zer0’s suit, but it won’t be the first time they’ve had embarrassing stains to scrub free. Rhys slumps against Zer0, his body protesting the cramped space, the hunched position, all the while his brain ignoring comfort in favor of bonelessness.

 

Zer0 doesn’t ask for reciprocation - never does. Neither do they take their lubey glove off, or the semeny one, though they do wipe at the release on their armor with Rhys’ shirt. Rhys can’t even protest. 

 

“Your posture suffers. Position not optimal,” Zer0 says, “for cuddles or rest.”

 

“Then let me suffer,” Rhys groans, loathe to move even though he knows that Zer0 is right. He’s going to have to find his underwear soon, and put his pants back on. But he likes a little contact in the after. 

 

Neither of Zer0’s hands are in any state to be touching, but after wiping them off on Rhys’ shirt - and finally garners a grumble of complaint - they slide their hands below Rhys’ shirt and up his spine.

 

“Your hands are gross right now,” Rhys says, forcing himself up and away. He may or may not have been drooling, and swipes at his mouth with the back of a hand. “Like, seriously  _ so  _ gross.”

 

“Sex should be gross, Rhys. I’m always prepared for mess - the mark of success.” They say it all with a bright red wink, and Rhys scrubs at his own face with both hands. 

 

“That would’ve sounded so much cooler without the wink,” he laughs, finally sitting back a little to straighten his spine. One of Zer0’s hands pull free of Rhys’ shirt and rest on his jaw. Rhys’ breath slows, though his pulse beats a little quicker. Zer0’s thumb presses against the corner of his mouth before it slides over his lips. Rhys feels his throat bob as he swallows. “I’d really like to kiss you. Um. Someday.”

 

Zer0 just watches him, tracing the shape of his mouth. “Someday,” they repeat, without inflection. Rhys doesn’t know what it means, but a tiny flicker of hope starts to burn in his chest.

 

And then,

 

“... You’re touching my face with the hand that was up my ass.”

 

Zer0 projects a smile and pats his cheek. 

 

Well. At least for a beat there, they had a moment. An assy, come-splattered moment to be sure, but it  _ was  _ a moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Inquire about fic requests [here!](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/ask)  
> If you are so inclined, feel free to follow [my Tumblr](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/).


End file.
